CHAPTER XXIIIA DARING PLANIt was close on ten o'clock when they came back to earth once more.A peremptory knock at the door had roused them both from their dreams.Bathurst rose to open, and there stood John Stich and Mistress Betty, both looking somewhat flurried and guilty, and both obviously brimming over with news."My lady! my lady!" cried Betty, excitedly, as soon as she caught her mistress's eye, "I have just spied Sir Humphrey Challoner at the window of the Royal George, just over the green yonder.""Give me leave, Captain," added John Stich, who was busy rolling up his sleeves above his powerful arms, "give me leave, and I'll make the rogue disgorge those letters in a trice.""You'd not succeed, honest friend," mused Bathurst, "and might get yourself in a devil of a hole to boot.""Nay, Captain," asserted John, emphatically, "'tis no time now for the wearing of kid gloves. I was on the green a moment ago, and spied that ravenous scarecrow, Mittachip, conversing with the beadle outside the Court House, where Squire West is sitting.""Well?""When the beadle had gone, Master Mittachip walked across the green and went straight to the Royal George. Be gy! what does that mean, Captain?""Oho!" laughed Jack, much amused at the smith's earnestness, "it means that Sir Humphrey Challoner intends to lay information against one Beau Brocade, the noted highwayman, and to see how nice he'll look with a rope round his neck and dangling six foot from the ground."An involuntary cry from Lady Patience, however drowned the laughter on his lips."Tush, man!" he added seriously, "here's a mighty fine piece of work we're doing, frightening her ladyship..."But John Stich was scowling more heavily than ever."If the scoundrel should dare..." he muttered, clenching his huge fists.His attitude was so threatening, and his expression so menacing, that in the midst of her new anxiety Lady Patience herself could not help smiling. Beau Brocade laughed outright."Dare?..." he said lightly. "Why, of course he'll dare. He's eager enough in the pursuit of mischief, and must save the devil all the trouble of showing him the way. But now," he added more seriously, and turning to Mistress Betty, "tell me, child, saw you Sir Humphrey clearly?""Aye! clear as daylight," she retorted, "the old beast...""How was he dressed?""Just like he was yesterday, sir. A brown coat, embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, riding-boots, three-cornered hat, and he had in his hand a gold-headed riding-crop.""Child!—child!" cried Bathurst, joyfully, "an those bright eyes of yours have not deceived you, yours'll be the glory of having saved us all.""What are you going to do?" asked Patience, eagerly."Pit my poor wits against those of Sir Humphrey Challoner," he replied gaily."I don't quite understand."He came up quite close to her and tried to meet her eyes."But you trust me?" he asked.And she murmured,—"Absolutely.""May Heaven bless you for that word!" he said earnestly. "Then will you deign to do as I shall direct?""Entirely.""Very well! Then whilst friend Stich will fetch my hat for me, will you write out a formal plaint, signed with your full name, stating that last night on the Heath you were waylaid and robbed by a man, whom I, your courier, saw quite plainly, and whom you have desired me to denounce?""But...""I entreat you there's not a moment to be lost," he urged, taking pen, ink and paper from the old-fashioned desk close by, and placing them before her."I'll do as you wish, of course," she said, "but what is your purpose?""For the present to take your ladyship's plaint over to his Honour, Squire West, at the Court House.""You'll be seen and recognised and...""Not I. One or two of the yokels may perhaps guess who I am, but they'd do me no harm. I entreat you, do as I bid you. Every second wasted may imperil our chance of safety."He had such an air of quiet command about him that she instinctively obeyed him and wrote out the plaint as he directed, then gave it in his charge. He seemed buoyant and full of hope, and though her heart misgave her, she managed to smile cheerfully when he took leave of her."I humbly beg of you," he said finally, as having kissed her finger-tips he prepared to go, "to wait here against my return, and on no account to take heed of anything you may see or hear for the next half-hour. An I mistake not," he added with a merry twinkle in his grey eyes, "there'll be strange doings at Brassington this noon.""But you...?" she cried anxiously."Nay! I pray you have no fear for me. In your sweet cause I would challenge the world, and, if you desired it, would remained unscathed."When he had gone, she sighed, and obedient to his wish, sat waiting patiently for his return in the dingy little parlour which awhile ago his presence had made so bright.It was at this moment that Master Mittachip, after his interview with the beadle, was in close conversation with Sir Humphrey Challoner at the Royal George.Outside the inn, Bathurst turned to John Stich, who had closely followed him."How's my Jack o' Lantern?" he asked quickly."As fresh as a daisy, Captain," replied the smith. "I've rubbed him down myself, and he has had a lovely feed.""That's good. You have my saddle with you?""Oh, aye! I knew you'd want it soon enough. Jack o' Lantern carried it for you himself, bless 'is 'eart, along with her ladyship and Mistress Betty.""Then do you see at once to his being saddled, friend, and bring him along to the Court House as soon as may be. Hold him in readiness for me, so that I may mount at a second's notice. You understand?""Yes, Captain. I understand that you are running your head into a d——d noose, and...""Easy, easy, friend! Remember...""Nay! I'll not forget for whose sake you do it. But you are at a disadvantage, Captain, with only one good arm.""Nay, friend," rejoined Bathurst, lightly, "there's many a thing a man can do with one arm: he can embrace his mistress ... or shoot his enemy."The sleepy little village of Brassington lay silent and deserted in the warmth of the noon-day sun, as Bathurst, having parted from John Stich, hurried across its narrow streets. As he had passed quickly through the outer passage of the Packhorse he had caught sight of a few red coats at the dingy bar of the inn, and presently, when he emerged on the green, he perceived another lot of them over at the Royal George yonder.But at this hour the worthy soldiers of His Majesty, King George, were having their midday rest and their customary glasses of ale, and were far too busy recounting their adventure with the mysterious stranger at the forge to the gaffers of Brassington, to take heed of anyone hurrying along its street.And thus Bathurst passed quickly and unperceived; the one or two yokels whom he met gave him a rapid glance. Only the women turned round, as he went along, to have another look at the handsome stranger with one arm in a sling.Outside the Court House he came face to face with Master Inch, whose pompous dignity seemed at this moment to be severely ruffled."Hey, sir! Hey!" he was shouting, and craning his fat neck in search of Master Mittachip, who had incontinently disappeared, "the Court is determinating—Squire West will grant you the interview which you seek.... Lud preserve me!" he added in noble and gigantic wrath, "I do believe the impious malapert was trying to fool me ... sending me on a fool's errand ...me... Jeremiah Inch, beadle of this parish!..."Bathurst waited a moment or two until the worst of the beadle's anger had cooled down a little, then he took a silver crown from his pocket, and pushed past the worthy into the precincts of the house."The interview you've arranged for, friend," he said quietly; "will do equally well for her ladyship's courier."Master Inch was somewhat taken off his balance. Mittachip's disappearance and this stranger's impertinence had taken his breath away. Before he had time to recover it, Bathurst had pressed the silver crown into his capacious palm."Now tell Squire West, friend," he said with that pleasant air of authority which he knew so well how to assume, "that I am here by the command of Lady Patience Gascoyne and am waiting to speak with him."Master Inch was so astonished that he found no word either of protest or of offended dignity. He looked doubtfully at the crown for a second or two, weighed it in his mind against the problematical half-crown promised by the defaulting attorney, and then said majestically,—"I will impart her ladyship's cognomen to his Honour myself."The next moment Jack Bathurst found himself alone in a small private room of the Court House, looking forward with suppressed excitement to the interview with Squire West, which in a moment of dare-devil, madcap frolic, yet with absolute coolness and firm determination, he had already arranged in his mind.CHAPTER XXIVHIS HONOUR, SQUIRE WESTSquire West was an elderly man, with a fine military presence and a pleasant countenance beneath his bob-tail wig: in his youth he had been reckoned well-favoured, and had been much petted by the ladies at the county balls. Owing to this he had retained a certain polish of manner not often met with in the English country gentry of those times.He came forward very politely to greet the courier of Lady Patience Gascoyne."What hath procured to Brassington the honour of a message from Lady Patience Gascoyne?" he asked, motioning Bathurst to a chair, and seating himself behind his desk."Her ladyship herself is staying in the village," replied Jack, "but would desire her presence to remain unknown for awhile.""Oh, indeed!" said the Squire, a little flurried at this unexpected event, "but ... but there is no inn fitting to harbour her ladyship in this village, and ... and ... if her ladyship would honour me and my poor house...""I thank you, sir, but her ladyship only remains here for an hour or so, and has despatched me to you on an important errand which brooks of no delay.""I am entirely at her ladyship's service.""Lady Patience was on her way from Stretton Hall, your Honour," continued Bathurst, imperturbably, "when her coach was stopped on the Heath, not very far from here, and her jewels, money, and also certain valuable papers were stolen from her."Squire West hemmed and hawed, and fidgeted in his chair: the matter seemed, strangely enough, to be causing him more annoyance than surprise."Dear! dear!" he muttered deprecatingly."Her ladyship has written out her formal plaint," said Jack, laying the paper before his Honour. "She has sent her coach on to Wirksworth, but thought your Honour's help here at Brassington would be more useful in capturing the rogue.""Aye!" murmured the worthy Squire, still somewhat doubtfully, and with a frown of perplexity on his jovial face. "We certainly have a posse of soldiers—a dozen or so at most—quartered in the village just now, but...""But what, your Honour?""But to be frank with you, sir, I fear me that 'twill be no good. An I mistake not, 'tis another exploit of that rascal, Beau Brocade, and the rogue is so cunning! ... Ah!" he added with a sigh, "we shall have no peace in this district until we've laid him by the heels."It was certainly quite obvious that the Squire was none too eager to send a posse of soldiers after the notorious highwayman. He had himself enjoyed immunity on the Heath up to now, and feared that it would be his turn to suffer if he started an active campaign against Beau Brocade. But Bathurst, from where he sat, had a good view through the casement window of the village green, and of the Royal George beyond it. Every moment he expected to see Sir Humphrey Challoner emerging from under the porch and entering this Court House, when certainly the situation would become distinctly critical. The Squire's hesitancy nearly drove him frantic with impatience, yet perforce he had to keep a glib tongue in his head, and not to betray more than a natural interest in the subject which he was discussing."Aye!" he said gaily, "an it was that rogue Beau Brocade, your Honour, he's the most daring rascal I've ever met. The whole thing was done in a trice. Odd's fish! but the fellow would steal your front tooth whilst he parleyed with you. He fired at me and hit me," he added ruefully, pointing to his wounded shoulder."You were her ladyship's escort on the Heath, sir?""Aye! and would wish to be of assistance in the recovery of her property: more particularly of a packet of letters on which her ladyship sets great store. If the rogue were captured now, these might be found about his person.""Ah! I fear me," quoth his Honour, with singular lack of enthusiasm, "that 'twill not be so easy, sir, as you imagine.""How so?""Beau Brocade is in league with half the country-side and...""Nay! you say you have a posse of soldiers quartered here! Gadzooks! if I had the chance with these and a few lusty fellows from the village, I'd soon give an account of any highwayman on this Heath!""Dear! dear!" repeated Squire West, sorely puzzled, "a very regrettable incident indeed.""Can I so far trespass on your Honour's time," queried Bathurst, with a slight show of impatience, "as to ask you at least to take note of her ladyship's plaint?""Certainly ... sir, certainly ... hem! ... er.... Of course we must after the rogue ... the beadle shall cry him out on the green at once, and..."It was easy to see that the worthy Squire would far sooner have left the well-known hero of Brassing Moor severely alone; still, in his official capacity he was bound to take note of her ladyship's plaint, and to act as justice demanded."'Tis a pity, sir," he said, whilst he sat fidgeting among his papers, "that you, or perhaps her ladyship, did not see the rogue's face. I suppose he was masked as usual?""Faix! he'd have frightened the sheep on the Heath, maybe, if he was not. But her ladyship and I noted his hair and stature, and also the cut and colour of his clothes.""What was he like?""Tall and stout of build, with dark hair turning to grey.""Nay!" ejaculated Squire West, in obvious relief, "then it was not Beau Brocade, who is young and slim, so I'm told, though I've never seen him. You saw him plainly, sir, did you say?""Aye! quite plainly, your Honour! And what's more," added Jack, emphatically, "her ladyship and I both caught sight of him in Brassington this very morning.""In Brassington?""Outside the Royal George," asserted Bathurst, imperturbably."Nay, sir!" cried Squire West, who seemed to have quite lost his air of indecision, now that he no longer feared to come in direct conflict with Beau Brocade, "why did you not say this before? Here, Inch! Inch!" he added, going to the door and shouting lustily across the passage, "where is that cursed beadle? In Brassington, did you say, sir?""I'd almost swear to it, your Honour.""Nay! then with a bit of good luck, we may at least laythisrascal by the heels. I would I could rid this neighbourhood of these rogues. Here, Inch," he continued, as soon as that worthy appeared in the doorway, "do you listen to what this gentleman has got to say. There's a d——d rascal in this village and you'll have to cry out his description at once, and then collar him as soon as may be."Master Inch placed himself in a posture that was alike dignified and expectant. His Honour, Squire West, too, was listening eagerly, whilst Jack Bathurst with perfectsang-froidgave forth the description of the supposed highwayman."He wore a brown coat," he said calmly, "embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, riding-boots and three-cornered hat. He is tall and stout of build, has dark hair slightly turning to grey, and was last seen carrying a gold-headed riding-crop.""That's clear enough, Inch, is it not?" queried his Honour."It is marvellously pellucid, sir," replied the beadle."You may add, friend Beadle," continued Jack, carelessly, "that her ladyship offers a reward of twenty guineas for that person's immediate apprehension."And Master Inch, beadle of the parish of Brassington, flew out of the door, and out of the Court House, bell in hand, for with a little bit of good luck it might be that he would be the first to lay his hand on the tall, stout rascal in a brown coat, and would be the one to earn the twenty guineas offered for his immediate apprehension.Squire West himself was over pleased. It was indeed satisfactory to render service to so great a lady as Lady Patience Gascoyne without interfering over much with that dare-devil Beau Brocade. The depredations on Brassing Moor had long been a scandal in the county: it had oft been thought that Squire West had not been sufficiently active in trying to rid the Heath of the notorious highwayman, whose exploits now were famed far and wide. But here was a chance of laying a cursed rascal by the heels and of showing his zeal in the administration of the county.The Squire, in the interim, busied himself with his papers, whilst Bathurst, who was vainly trying to appear serious and only casually interested, stood by the open window, watching Master Inch's progress across the green.Outside the Court House faithful John Stich stood waiting, with Jack o' Lantern pawing the ground by his side.CHAPTER XXVSUCCESS AND DISAPPOINTMENTThus it was that when Sir Humphrey Challoner, after his lengthy interview with Mittachip, stepped out of the porch of the Royal George on his way to the Court House, he found the village green singularly animated.A number of yokels, including quite a goodly contingent of women and youngsters, were crowding round Master Inch, the beadle, who was ringing his bell violently and shouting at the top of his lusty voice,—"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! Take note that a robber, vagabond and thief is in hiding in this village."Interested in the scene, Sir Humphrey had paused a moment, watching the pompous beadle and the crowd of gaffers and women. He still carried his riding-crop, and flicked it with a certain pleasurable satisfaction against his boot, eagerly anticipating the moment when the village crier would be giving forth in the same stentorian tones the description of Beau Brocade, the highwayman."Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" continued Master Inch, with ever-increasing vigour. "Take note that this vagabond is apparelled in a brown coat, embroidered waistcoat, buff nether garments and riding-boots. Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! take note that he carried with him this morning a gold-headed riding-whip, that he is tall and slightly rotund in his corporation and has raven hair slightly attenuated with grey."Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! take note that if any of you observate such a person as I have just descriptioned, you are to apprise me of this instantaneously, so that I may take him by force and violence even into the presence of his Honour."Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"The gaffers were putting their heads together, whilst the young ones whispered eagerly,—"Brown coat! ... embroidered waistcoat! ... a gold-headed whip!..."Nay, 'twas often enough that Master Inch had to cry out the description of some wretched vagabond in hiding in the village, but it was not usual that such an one was attired in the clothes of a gentleman.It even struck Sir Humphrey as very strange, and he pushed through the group of yokels to hear more clearly Master Inch's renewed description of the rogue."Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"At first the interest in Master Inch's pompous words was so keen that Sir Humphrey remained practically unnoticed. One or two villagers, noting that a gentleman was amongst them, respectfully made way for him, then one youngster, struck by a sudden idea, stared at him and whispered to his neighbour,—"He's got a brown coat on...""Aye!" whispered the other in reply, "and an embroiderated waistcoat too."Some of them began crowding around Sir Humphrey, so that he raised his whip and muttered angrily,—"What the devil are ye all staring at?"It was at this very moment that Master Inch suddenly caught sight of him, just in the very middle of a stentorian,—"Oyez!"He gave one tremendous gasp, the bell dropped out of his hand, his jaw fell, his round, beady eyes nearly bulged out of his head."'Tis him!" murmured the yokel, who stood close to his ear.This remark brought back Master Inch to his senses and to the importance of his position. He raised his large hand above his head and brought it down with a tremendous clap on Sir Humphrey Challoner's shoulder."Aye! 'tis him!" he shouted lustily, "and be gy! he's got guilt writ all over his face, and 'tis a mighty ugly surface!"Sir Humphrey, taken completely by surprise, was positively purple with rage."Death and hell!" he cried, clutching his riding-whip significantly. "What's the meaning of this?"But already the younger men, full of excitement and eagerness, had closed round him, impeding his movements, whilst two more lusty fellows incontinently seized him by the collar. They felt neither respect nor sympathy for a vagabond attired in gentleman's clothes.Sir Humphrey tried to shake himself free, whilst the beadle majestically replied,—"You'll have it explanated to you, friend, before his Honour!"The excitement and lust of capture was growing apace."Got him!" shouted most of the men."Showin' his ugly face in broad daylight!" commented the women."Hold him tight, beadle," was the universal admonition."You rascal! you dare!..." gasped Sir Humphrey, struggling violently, and shaking a menacing fist in the beadle's face."Silence!" commanded Master Inch, with supreme dignity."I'll have you whipped for this!"But this aroused the beadle's most awesome ire."To the stocks with him!" he ordered, "he insultates the Majesty of the Law!""You low-born knave! Aye! you'll hang for this!"It was all this clamour that at last aroused Master Mittachip in the parlour of the Royal George from the happy day-dreams in which he was indulging. At first he took no count of it, then he quietly strolled up to the window and undid the casement, to ascertain what all the tumult was about.What he did see nearly froze the thin blood within his veins. He would have cried out, but his very throat contracted with the horror of the spectacle which he beheld.There! across the village green, he saw Sir Humphrey Challoner, his noble patron, the Squire of Hartington, being clapped into the village stocks, whilst a crowd of yokels, the clumsy, ignorant d——d louts! were actually pelting his Honour with carrots, turnips and potatoes!Oh! was the world coming to an end? There! a peck of peas hit Sir Humphrey straight in the eye. No wonder his Honour was purple, he would have a stroke of apoplexy for sure within the next five minutes.At last Master Mittachip recovered the use of his limbs. With one bound he was out of the inn parlour, and had pushed past mine host and hostess, who, as ignorant as were all the other villagers of their guest's name and quality, were watching the scene from the porch, and holding their sides with laughter.Jack Bathurst had watched it all from the window of the Court House: his dare-devil, madcap scheme had succeeded beyond his most sanguine hopes. When he saw Sir Humphrey Challoner actually clapped in the village stocks, with the pompous beadle towering over him, like the sumptuous Majesty of the Law, he could have cried out in wild merry glee.But Jack was above all a man of prompt decision and quick action. For his own life he cared not one jot, and would gladly have laid it down for the sake of the woman he loved with all the passionate ardour of his romantic temperament, but with him, as with every other human being, self-preservation was the greatest and most irresistible law. He had readily imperilled his safety in order to obtain possession of the letters, which meant so much happiness to his beautiful white rose: but this done, he was ready to do battle for his own life, and to sell his freedom as dearly as may be.He hoped that he had effectually accomplished his purpose through the arrest of Sir Humphrey Challoner, whose pockets Master Inch was even now deliberately searching, in spite of vigorous protests and terrible language from his Honour. His heart gave a wild leap of joy when he saw the beadle presently hurrying across the green and holding a paper in his hand. It looked small enough—not a packet, only a single letter: but if it were the momentous one, then indeed would all risks, all perils seem as nothing when weighed against the happiness of having renderedherthis service.But Jack also saw Master Mittachip darting panic-stricken out of the inn opposite. He knew of course that within the next few moments—seconds perhaps—the fraud would be discovered and Sir Humphrey Challoner liberated, amidst a shower of abject apologies from the Squire and parish of Brassington combined. What the further consequences of it all would be to himself was not difficult to foresee.He looked behind him. The Squire was sitting at his desk, apparently taking no notice of the noise and shouting outside. Down below, John Stich, who had been watching the scene on the green with the utmost delight, stood ready, holding Jack o' Lantern by the bridle. In a moment, with a few courteous words to the Squire, Bathurst had hurried out of the Court House. He met the beadle at the door, who, paper in hand, conscious of his own importance and flurried with wrath, was hurrying to report the important arrest to Squire West.Bathurst stopped him with a quick,—"'Twas well done, Master Inch!"And pressing a couple of guineas into the beadle's hand, he added,—"Her ladyship will further repay when you've found the rest of her property. In the meanwhile, these, I presume, are the letters she lost.""Only one letter, sir," said Master Inch, as somewhat taken off his pompous guard he allowed Jack to take the paper from him.There was not a minute to be lost. Master Mittachip, having vainly tried to harangue the yokels, who were still pelting his Honour with miscellaneous vegetables, was now hurrying to the Court House as fast as his thin legs would carry him.Bathurst took one glance at the paper which Master Inch had given him. A cry of the keenest disappointment escaped his lips."What is it, Captain?" asked John Stich, who had anxiously been watching his friend's face."Nothing, friend," replied Bathurst, "only a receipt and tally for some sheep."John Stich uttered a violent oath."And the scoundrel'll escape with a shower of potatoes and no more punishment than the stocks. And you've risked your life, Captain, for nothing!""Nay! not for nothing, honest friend," said Jack, in a hurried whisper, as he mounted Jack o' Lantern with all the speed his helpless arm would allow. "Do you go back to her ladyship as fast as you can. Beg her from me not to give up hope, but to feign an illness and on no account speak to anyone about the events of to-day until she has seen me again. You understand?""Aye! aye! Captain!"At this moment there came a wild cry from the precincts of the Court House, and Master Mittachip, accompanied by Squire West himself, and closely followed by the beadle, were seen tearing across the green towards the village stocks."The truth is out, friend," shouted Jack, as pressing his knees against Jack o' Lantern's sides, and giving the gallant beast one cry of encouragement, he galloped away at break-neck speed out towards the Moor.CHAPTER XXVITHE MAN HUNTBy the time Squire West and the whole of the parish of Brassington had realised what a terrible practical joke had been perpetrated on them by the stranger, the latter was far out of sight, with not even a cloud of dust to mark the way he went.But the hue-and-cry after him had never ceased the whole of that day. Squire West, profuse and abject in his apologies, had told off all the soldiers who were quartered in the village to scour the Heath day and night, until that rogue was found and brought before him. The Sergeant, who was in command of the squad, and the Corporal too, had a score of their own to settle with the mysterious stranger, whom the general consensus of opinion declared to have been none other than that scoundrel unhung, the notorious highwayman, Beau Brocade.Master Inch, as soon as he had recovered his breath, distinctly recollected now seeing a beautiful chestnut horse pawing the ground outside the Court House during the course of the morning: he blamed himself severely for not having guessed the identity of the creature, so closely associated in every one's mind with the exploits of the highwayman.The yokels, however, at this juncture, entrenched themselves behind a barrier of impenetrable density. In those days, just as even now, it is beyond human capacity to obtain information from a Derbyshire countryman if he do not choose to give it. Whether some of those who had pelted Sir Humphrey Challoner with vegetables had or had not known who his Honour was, whether some of them had or had not guessed Beau Brocade's presence in the village, remained, in spite of rigorous cross-examination a complete mystery to the perplexed Squire and to his valiant henchman, the beadle.Promises, threats, bribes were alike ineffectual."I dunno!" was the stolid, perpetual reply to every question put on either subject.Her ladyship, on the other hand, overcome with fatigue, was too ill to see anyone.The posse of soldiers, a score or so by now, had however been reinforced as the day wore on by a contingent of Squire West's own indoor and outdoor servants, also by a few loafers from Brassington itself, of the sort that are to be found in every corner of the world where there is an ale-house, the idlers, the toadies, those who had nothing to lose and something to gain by running counter to popular feeling and taking up cudgels against Beau Brocade, for the sake of the reward lavishly promised by Squire West and Sir Humphrey Challoner.The latter's temper had not even begun to simmer down at this late hour of the day when, all arrangements for the battue after the highwayman being completed, he at last found himself on horseback, ambling along the bridle-path towards the shepherd's hut, with Master Mittachip beside him.It had been a glorious day, and the evening now gave promise of a balmy night to come, but the Heath's majestic repose was disturbed by the doings of man. Beneath the gorse and bracken lizards and toads had gone to rest in the marshy land beyond, waterhen and lapwing were asleep, but all the while on the great Moor, through the scrub and blackthorn, along path and ravine, man was hunting man and finding enjoyment in the sport.As Sir Humphrey Challoner and the attorney rode slowly along, they could hear from time to time the rallying cry of the various parties stalking the Heath for their big game. The hunt was close on the heels of Beau Brocade. Earlier in the afternoon his horse had been seen to make its way, riderless, towards the forge of John Stich.The quarry was on foot, he was known to be wounded, he must fall an easy prey to his trackers soon enough: sometimes in the distance there would come a shout of triumph, when the human blood-hounds had at last found a scent, then Sir Humphrey would rouse himself from his moody silence, a look of keen malice would light up his deep-set eyes, and reining in his horse, he would strain his ears to hear that shout of triumph again."He'll not escape this time, Sir Humphrey," whispered Mittachip, falling obsequiously into his employer's mood."No! curse him!" muttered his Honour with a string of violent oaths, "I shall see him hang before two days are over, unless these dolts let him escape again.""Nay, nay, Sir Humphrey! that's not likely!" chuckled Master Mittachip. "Squire West has pressed all his own able-bodied men into the service, and the posse of soldiers were most keen for the chase. Nay, nay, he'll not escape this time.""'Sdeath!" swore his Honour under his breath, "but I do feel stiff!""A dreadful indignity," moaned the attorney."Nay! but Squire West was most distressed, and his apologies were profuse! Indeed he seemed to feel it as much as if it had happened to himself.""Aye! but not in the same place, I'll warrant! Odd's life, I had no notion how much a turnip could hurt when flung into one's eye," added his Honour, with one of those laughs that never boded any good."A most painful incident, Sir Humphrey!" sighed Mittachip, brimming over with sympathy."'Twas not the incident that was painful! Zounds! I am bruised all over. But I'll have the law of every one of those dolts, aye! and make that fool West administer it on all of them! As for that ape, the beadle, he shall be publicly whipped. Death and hell! they'll have to pay for this!""Aye! aye! Sir Humphrey! your anger is quite natural, and Squire West assured me that that rascal Beau Brocade, who played you this impudent trick, cannot fail to be caught. The hunt is well organised, he cannot escape."As if to confirm the attorney's words, there rose at this moment from afar a weird and eerie sound, which caused Master Mittachip's shrivelled flesh to creep along his bones."What was that?" he whispered, horror-struck."A blood-hound, the better to track that rascal," muttered Sir Humphrey, savagely.The attorney shivered; there had been so much devilish malice in his Honour's voice, that suddenly his puny heart misgave him. He took to wishing himself well out of this unmanly business. The horror of it seemed to grip him by the throat: he was superstitious too, and firmly believed in a material hell; the sound of that distant snarl, followed by the significant yelping of a hound upon the scent, made him think of the cries the devils would utter at sight of the damned."The dog belongs to one of Squire West's grooms," remarked his Honour, carelessly, "a savage beast enough, by the look of him. Luck was in our favour, for our gallant highwayman had carried Lady Patience's plaint inside his coat for quite a long time, and then left it on his Honour's table ... quite enough for any self-respecting blood-hound, and this one is said to be very keen on the scent.... Squire West tried to protest, but set a dog to catch a dog, say I."Master Mittachip tried to shut his ears to the terrible sound. Fortunately it was getting fainter now, and Sir Humphrey did not give him time for much reflection.His Honour had stopped for awhile listening, with a chuckle of intense satisfaction, to the yelping of the dog straining on the leash, then when the sound died away, he said abruptly,—"Are we still far from the hut?""No, Sir Humphrey," stammered Mittachip, whose very soul was quaking with horror."We'll find the shepherd there, think you?""Y ... y ... yes, your Honour!""Harkee, Master Mittachip. I'll run no risk. That d——d highwayman must be desperate to-night. We'll adhere to our original plan, and let the shepherd take the letters to Wirksworth.""You ... you ... you'll not let them bide to-night where they are, Sir Humphrey?""No, you fool, I won't. They are but just below the surface, under cover of some bramble, and once those fellows come scouring round the hut, any one of them may unearth the letters with a kick of his boot. There's been a lot of talk of a reward for the recovery of a packet of letters! ... No, no, no! I'll not risk it."Sir Humphrey Challoner had thought the matter well out, and knew that he ran two distinct risks in the matter of the letters. To one he had alluded just now when he spoke of the probability—remote perhaps—of the packet being accidentally unearthed by one of the scouring parties. Any man who found it would naturally at once take it to Squire West, in the hope of getting the reward promised by her ladyship for its recovery. The idea, therefore, of leaving the letters in their hiding-place for awhile did not commend itself to him. On the other hand, there was the more obvious risk of keeping them about his own person. Sir Humphrey thanked his stars that he had not done so the day before, and even now kept in his mind a certain superstitious belief that Beau Brocade—wounded, hunted and desperate—would make a final effort, which might prove successful, to wrench the letters from him on the Heath.
CHAPTER XXIII
A DARING PLAN
It was close on ten o'clock when they came back to earth once more.
A peremptory knock at the door had roused them both from their dreams.
Bathurst rose to open, and there stood John Stich and Mistress Betty, both looking somewhat flurried and guilty, and both obviously brimming over with news.
"My lady! my lady!" cried Betty, excitedly, as soon as she caught her mistress's eye, "I have just spied Sir Humphrey Challoner at the window of the Royal George, just over the green yonder."
"Give me leave, Captain," added John Stich, who was busy rolling up his sleeves above his powerful arms, "give me leave, and I'll make the rogue disgorge those letters in a trice."
"You'd not succeed, honest friend," mused Bathurst, "and might get yourself in a devil of a hole to boot."
"Nay, Captain," asserted John, emphatically, "'tis no time now for the wearing of kid gloves. I was on the green a moment ago, and spied that ravenous scarecrow, Mittachip, conversing with the beadle outside the Court House, where Squire West is sitting."
"Well?"
"When the beadle had gone, Master Mittachip walked across the green and went straight to the Royal George. Be gy! what does that mean, Captain?"
"Oho!" laughed Jack, much amused at the smith's earnestness, "it means that Sir Humphrey Challoner intends to lay information against one Beau Brocade, the noted highwayman, and to see how nice he'll look with a rope round his neck and dangling six foot from the ground."
An involuntary cry from Lady Patience, however drowned the laughter on his lips.
"Tush, man!" he added seriously, "here's a mighty fine piece of work we're doing, frightening her ladyship..."
But John Stich was scowling more heavily than ever.
"If the scoundrel should dare..." he muttered, clenching his huge fists.
His attitude was so threatening, and his expression so menacing, that in the midst of her new anxiety Lady Patience herself could not help smiling. Beau Brocade laughed outright.
"Dare?..." he said lightly. "Why, of course he'll dare. He's eager enough in the pursuit of mischief, and must save the devil all the trouble of showing him the way. But now," he added more seriously, and turning to Mistress Betty, "tell me, child, saw you Sir Humphrey clearly?"
"Aye! clear as daylight," she retorted, "the old beast..."
"How was he dressed?"
"Just like he was yesterday, sir. A brown coat, embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, riding-boots, three-cornered hat, and he had in his hand a gold-headed riding-crop."
"Child!—child!" cried Bathurst, joyfully, "an those bright eyes of yours have not deceived you, yours'll be the glory of having saved us all."
"What are you going to do?" asked Patience, eagerly.
"Pit my poor wits against those of Sir Humphrey Challoner," he replied gaily.
"I don't quite understand."
He came up quite close to her and tried to meet her eyes.
"But you trust me?" he asked.
And she murmured,—
"Absolutely."
"May Heaven bless you for that word!" he said earnestly. "Then will you deign to do as I shall direct?"
"Entirely."
"Very well! Then whilst friend Stich will fetch my hat for me, will you write out a formal plaint, signed with your full name, stating that last night on the Heath you were waylaid and robbed by a man, whom I, your courier, saw quite plainly, and whom you have desired me to denounce?"
"But..."
"I entreat you there's not a moment to be lost," he urged, taking pen, ink and paper from the old-fashioned desk close by, and placing them before her.
"I'll do as you wish, of course," she said, "but what is your purpose?"
"For the present to take your ladyship's plaint over to his Honour, Squire West, at the Court House."
"You'll be seen and recognised and..."
"Not I. One or two of the yokels may perhaps guess who I am, but they'd do me no harm. I entreat you, do as I bid you. Every second wasted may imperil our chance of safety."
He had such an air of quiet command about him that she instinctively obeyed him and wrote out the plaint as he directed, then gave it in his charge. He seemed buoyant and full of hope, and though her heart misgave her, she managed to smile cheerfully when he took leave of her.
"I humbly beg of you," he said finally, as having kissed her finger-tips he prepared to go, "to wait here against my return, and on no account to take heed of anything you may see or hear for the next half-hour. An I mistake not," he added with a merry twinkle in his grey eyes, "there'll be strange doings at Brassington this noon."
"But you...?" she cried anxiously.
"Nay! I pray you have no fear for me. In your sweet cause I would challenge the world, and, if you desired it, would remained unscathed."
When he had gone, she sighed, and obedient to his wish, sat waiting patiently for his return in the dingy little parlour which awhile ago his presence had made so bright.
It was at this moment that Master Mittachip, after his interview with the beadle, was in close conversation with Sir Humphrey Challoner at the Royal George.
Outside the inn, Bathurst turned to John Stich, who had closely followed him.
"How's my Jack o' Lantern?" he asked quickly.
"As fresh as a daisy, Captain," replied the smith. "I've rubbed him down myself, and he has had a lovely feed."
"That's good. You have my saddle with you?"
"Oh, aye! I knew you'd want it soon enough. Jack o' Lantern carried it for you himself, bless 'is 'eart, along with her ladyship and Mistress Betty."
"Then do you see at once to his being saddled, friend, and bring him along to the Court House as soon as may be. Hold him in readiness for me, so that I may mount at a second's notice. You understand?"
"Yes, Captain. I understand that you are running your head into a d——d noose, and..."
"Easy, easy, friend! Remember..."
"Nay! I'll not forget for whose sake you do it. But you are at a disadvantage, Captain, with only one good arm."
"Nay, friend," rejoined Bathurst, lightly, "there's many a thing a man can do with one arm: he can embrace his mistress ... or shoot his enemy."
The sleepy little village of Brassington lay silent and deserted in the warmth of the noon-day sun, as Bathurst, having parted from John Stich, hurried across its narrow streets. As he had passed quickly through the outer passage of the Packhorse he had caught sight of a few red coats at the dingy bar of the inn, and presently, when he emerged on the green, he perceived another lot of them over at the Royal George yonder.
But at this hour the worthy soldiers of His Majesty, King George, were having their midday rest and their customary glasses of ale, and were far too busy recounting their adventure with the mysterious stranger at the forge to the gaffers of Brassington, to take heed of anyone hurrying along its street.
And thus Bathurst passed quickly and unperceived; the one or two yokels whom he met gave him a rapid glance. Only the women turned round, as he went along, to have another look at the handsome stranger with one arm in a sling.
Outside the Court House he came face to face with Master Inch, whose pompous dignity seemed at this moment to be severely ruffled.
"Hey, sir! Hey!" he was shouting, and craning his fat neck in search of Master Mittachip, who had incontinently disappeared, "the Court is determinating—Squire West will grant you the interview which you seek.... Lud preserve me!" he added in noble and gigantic wrath, "I do believe the impious malapert was trying to fool me ... sending me on a fool's errand ...me... Jeremiah Inch, beadle of this parish!..."
Bathurst waited a moment or two until the worst of the beadle's anger had cooled down a little, then he took a silver crown from his pocket, and pushed past the worthy into the precincts of the house.
"The interview you've arranged for, friend," he said quietly; "will do equally well for her ladyship's courier."
Master Inch was somewhat taken off his balance. Mittachip's disappearance and this stranger's impertinence had taken his breath away. Before he had time to recover it, Bathurst had pressed the silver crown into his capacious palm.
"Now tell Squire West, friend," he said with that pleasant air of authority which he knew so well how to assume, "that I am here by the command of Lady Patience Gascoyne and am waiting to speak with him."
Master Inch was so astonished that he found no word either of protest or of offended dignity. He looked doubtfully at the crown for a second or two, weighed it in his mind against the problematical half-crown promised by the defaulting attorney, and then said majestically,—
"I will impart her ladyship's cognomen to his Honour myself."
The next moment Jack Bathurst found himself alone in a small private room of the Court House, looking forward with suppressed excitement to the interview with Squire West, which in a moment of dare-devil, madcap frolic, yet with absolute coolness and firm determination, he had already arranged in his mind.
CHAPTER XXIV
HIS HONOUR, SQUIRE WEST
Squire West was an elderly man, with a fine military presence and a pleasant countenance beneath his bob-tail wig: in his youth he had been reckoned well-favoured, and had been much petted by the ladies at the county balls. Owing to this he had retained a certain polish of manner not often met with in the English country gentry of those times.
He came forward very politely to greet the courier of Lady Patience Gascoyne.
"What hath procured to Brassington the honour of a message from Lady Patience Gascoyne?" he asked, motioning Bathurst to a chair, and seating himself behind his desk.
"Her ladyship herself is staying in the village," replied Jack, "but would desire her presence to remain unknown for awhile."
"Oh, indeed!" said the Squire, a little flurried at this unexpected event, "but ... but there is no inn fitting to harbour her ladyship in this village, and ... and ... if her ladyship would honour me and my poor house..."
"I thank you, sir, but her ladyship only remains here for an hour or so, and has despatched me to you on an important errand which brooks of no delay."
"I am entirely at her ladyship's service."
"Lady Patience was on her way from Stretton Hall, your Honour," continued Bathurst, imperturbably, "when her coach was stopped on the Heath, not very far from here, and her jewels, money, and also certain valuable papers were stolen from her."
Squire West hemmed and hawed, and fidgeted in his chair: the matter seemed, strangely enough, to be causing him more annoyance than surprise.
"Dear! dear!" he muttered deprecatingly.
"Her ladyship has written out her formal plaint," said Jack, laying the paper before his Honour. "She has sent her coach on to Wirksworth, but thought your Honour's help here at Brassington would be more useful in capturing the rogue."
"Aye!" murmured the worthy Squire, still somewhat doubtfully, and with a frown of perplexity on his jovial face. "We certainly have a posse of soldiers—a dozen or so at most—quartered in the village just now, but..."
"But what, your Honour?"
"But to be frank with you, sir, I fear me that 'twill be no good. An I mistake not, 'tis another exploit of that rascal, Beau Brocade, and the rogue is so cunning! ... Ah!" he added with a sigh, "we shall have no peace in this district until we've laid him by the heels."
It was certainly quite obvious that the Squire was none too eager to send a posse of soldiers after the notorious highwayman. He had himself enjoyed immunity on the Heath up to now, and feared that it would be his turn to suffer if he started an active campaign against Beau Brocade. But Bathurst, from where he sat, had a good view through the casement window of the village green, and of the Royal George beyond it. Every moment he expected to see Sir Humphrey Challoner emerging from under the porch and entering this Court House, when certainly the situation would become distinctly critical. The Squire's hesitancy nearly drove him frantic with impatience, yet perforce he had to keep a glib tongue in his head, and not to betray more than a natural interest in the subject which he was discussing.
"Aye!" he said gaily, "an it was that rogue Beau Brocade, your Honour, he's the most daring rascal I've ever met. The whole thing was done in a trice. Odd's fish! but the fellow would steal your front tooth whilst he parleyed with you. He fired at me and hit me," he added ruefully, pointing to his wounded shoulder.
"You were her ladyship's escort on the Heath, sir?"
"Aye! and would wish to be of assistance in the recovery of her property: more particularly of a packet of letters on which her ladyship sets great store. If the rogue were captured now, these might be found about his person."
"Ah! I fear me," quoth his Honour, with singular lack of enthusiasm, "that 'twill not be so easy, sir, as you imagine."
"How so?"
"Beau Brocade is in league with half the country-side and..."
"Nay! you say you have a posse of soldiers quartered here! Gadzooks! if I had the chance with these and a few lusty fellows from the village, I'd soon give an account of any highwayman on this Heath!"
"Dear! dear!" repeated Squire West, sorely puzzled, "a very regrettable incident indeed."
"Can I so far trespass on your Honour's time," queried Bathurst, with a slight show of impatience, "as to ask you at least to take note of her ladyship's plaint?"
"Certainly ... sir, certainly ... hem! ... er.... Of course we must after the rogue ... the beadle shall cry him out on the green at once, and..."
It was easy to see that the worthy Squire would far sooner have left the well-known hero of Brassing Moor severely alone; still, in his official capacity he was bound to take note of her ladyship's plaint, and to act as justice demanded.
"'Tis a pity, sir," he said, whilst he sat fidgeting among his papers, "that you, or perhaps her ladyship, did not see the rogue's face. I suppose he was masked as usual?"
"Faix! he'd have frightened the sheep on the Heath, maybe, if he was not. But her ladyship and I noted his hair and stature, and also the cut and colour of his clothes."
"What was he like?"
"Tall and stout of build, with dark hair turning to grey."
"Nay!" ejaculated Squire West, in obvious relief, "then it was not Beau Brocade, who is young and slim, so I'm told, though I've never seen him. You saw him plainly, sir, did you say?"
"Aye! quite plainly, your Honour! And what's more," added Jack, emphatically, "her ladyship and I both caught sight of him in Brassington this very morning."
"In Brassington?"
"Outside the Royal George," asserted Bathurst, imperturbably.
"Nay, sir!" cried Squire West, who seemed to have quite lost his air of indecision, now that he no longer feared to come in direct conflict with Beau Brocade, "why did you not say this before? Here, Inch! Inch!" he added, going to the door and shouting lustily across the passage, "where is that cursed beadle? In Brassington, did you say, sir?"
"I'd almost swear to it, your Honour."
"Nay! then with a bit of good luck, we may at least laythisrascal by the heels. I would I could rid this neighbourhood of these rogues. Here, Inch," he continued, as soon as that worthy appeared in the doorway, "do you listen to what this gentleman has got to say. There's a d——d rascal in this village and you'll have to cry out his description at once, and then collar him as soon as may be."
Master Inch placed himself in a posture that was alike dignified and expectant. His Honour, Squire West, too, was listening eagerly, whilst Jack Bathurst with perfectsang-froidgave forth the description of the supposed highwayman.
"He wore a brown coat," he said calmly, "embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, riding-boots and three-cornered hat. He is tall and stout of build, has dark hair slightly turning to grey, and was last seen carrying a gold-headed riding-crop."
"That's clear enough, Inch, is it not?" queried his Honour.
"It is marvellously pellucid, sir," replied the beadle.
"You may add, friend Beadle," continued Jack, carelessly, "that her ladyship offers a reward of twenty guineas for that person's immediate apprehension."
And Master Inch, beadle of the parish of Brassington, flew out of the door, and out of the Court House, bell in hand, for with a little bit of good luck it might be that he would be the first to lay his hand on the tall, stout rascal in a brown coat, and would be the one to earn the twenty guineas offered for his immediate apprehension.
Squire West himself was over pleased. It was indeed satisfactory to render service to so great a lady as Lady Patience Gascoyne without interfering over much with that dare-devil Beau Brocade. The depredations on Brassing Moor had long been a scandal in the county: it had oft been thought that Squire West had not been sufficiently active in trying to rid the Heath of the notorious highwayman, whose exploits now were famed far and wide. But here was a chance of laying a cursed rascal by the heels and of showing his zeal in the administration of the county.
The Squire, in the interim, busied himself with his papers, whilst Bathurst, who was vainly trying to appear serious and only casually interested, stood by the open window, watching Master Inch's progress across the green.
Outside the Court House faithful John Stich stood waiting, with Jack o' Lantern pawing the ground by his side.
CHAPTER XXV
SUCCESS AND DISAPPOINTMENT
Thus it was that when Sir Humphrey Challoner, after his lengthy interview with Mittachip, stepped out of the porch of the Royal George on his way to the Court House, he found the village green singularly animated.
A number of yokels, including quite a goodly contingent of women and youngsters, were crowding round Master Inch, the beadle, who was ringing his bell violently and shouting at the top of his lusty voice,—
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! Take note that a robber, vagabond and thief is in hiding in this village."
Interested in the scene, Sir Humphrey had paused a moment, watching the pompous beadle and the crowd of gaffers and women. He still carried his riding-crop, and flicked it with a certain pleasurable satisfaction against his boot, eagerly anticipating the moment when the village crier would be giving forth in the same stentorian tones the description of Beau Brocade, the highwayman.
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" continued Master Inch, with ever-increasing vigour. "Take note that this vagabond is apparelled in a brown coat, embroidered waistcoat, buff nether garments and riding-boots. Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! take note that he carried with him this morning a gold-headed riding-whip, that he is tall and slightly rotund in his corporation and has raven hair slightly attenuated with grey.
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! take note that if any of you observate such a person as I have just descriptioned, you are to apprise me of this instantaneously, so that I may take him by force and violence even into the presence of his Honour.
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"
The gaffers were putting their heads together, whilst the young ones whispered eagerly,—
"Brown coat! ... embroidered waistcoat! ... a gold-headed whip!..."
Nay, 'twas often enough that Master Inch had to cry out the description of some wretched vagabond in hiding in the village, but it was not usual that such an one was attired in the clothes of a gentleman.
It even struck Sir Humphrey as very strange, and he pushed through the group of yokels to hear more clearly Master Inch's renewed description of the rogue.
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"
At first the interest in Master Inch's pompous words was so keen that Sir Humphrey remained practically unnoticed. One or two villagers, noting that a gentleman was amongst them, respectfully made way for him, then one youngster, struck by a sudden idea, stared at him and whispered to his neighbour,—
"He's got a brown coat on..."
"Aye!" whispered the other in reply, "and an embroiderated waistcoat too."
Some of them began crowding around Sir Humphrey, so that he raised his whip and muttered angrily,—
"What the devil are ye all staring at?"
It was at this very moment that Master Inch suddenly caught sight of him, just in the very middle of a stentorian,—
"Oyez!"
He gave one tremendous gasp, the bell dropped out of his hand, his jaw fell, his round, beady eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
"'Tis him!" murmured the yokel, who stood close to his ear.
This remark brought back Master Inch to his senses and to the importance of his position. He raised his large hand above his head and brought it down with a tremendous clap on Sir Humphrey Challoner's shoulder.
"Aye! 'tis him!" he shouted lustily, "and be gy! he's got guilt writ all over his face, and 'tis a mighty ugly surface!"
Sir Humphrey, taken completely by surprise, was positively purple with rage.
"Death and hell!" he cried, clutching his riding-whip significantly. "What's the meaning of this?"
But already the younger men, full of excitement and eagerness, had closed round him, impeding his movements, whilst two more lusty fellows incontinently seized him by the collar. They felt neither respect nor sympathy for a vagabond attired in gentleman's clothes.
Sir Humphrey tried to shake himself free, whilst the beadle majestically replied,—
"You'll have it explanated to you, friend, before his Honour!"
The excitement and lust of capture was growing apace.
"Got him!" shouted most of the men.
"Showin' his ugly face in broad daylight!" commented the women.
"Hold him tight, beadle," was the universal admonition.
"You rascal! you dare!..." gasped Sir Humphrey, struggling violently, and shaking a menacing fist in the beadle's face.
"Silence!" commanded Master Inch, with supreme dignity.
"I'll have you whipped for this!"
But this aroused the beadle's most awesome ire.
"To the stocks with him!" he ordered, "he insultates the Majesty of the Law!"
"You low-born knave! Aye! you'll hang for this!"
It was all this clamour that at last aroused Master Mittachip in the parlour of the Royal George from the happy day-dreams in which he was indulging. At first he took no count of it, then he quietly strolled up to the window and undid the casement, to ascertain what all the tumult was about.
What he did see nearly froze the thin blood within his veins. He would have cried out, but his very throat contracted with the horror of the spectacle which he beheld.
There! across the village green, he saw Sir Humphrey Challoner, his noble patron, the Squire of Hartington, being clapped into the village stocks, whilst a crowd of yokels, the clumsy, ignorant d——d louts! were actually pelting his Honour with carrots, turnips and potatoes!
Oh! was the world coming to an end? There! a peck of peas hit Sir Humphrey straight in the eye. No wonder his Honour was purple, he would have a stroke of apoplexy for sure within the next five minutes.
At last Master Mittachip recovered the use of his limbs. With one bound he was out of the inn parlour, and had pushed past mine host and hostess, who, as ignorant as were all the other villagers of their guest's name and quality, were watching the scene from the porch, and holding their sides with laughter.
Jack Bathurst had watched it all from the window of the Court House: his dare-devil, madcap scheme had succeeded beyond his most sanguine hopes. When he saw Sir Humphrey Challoner actually clapped in the village stocks, with the pompous beadle towering over him, like the sumptuous Majesty of the Law, he could have cried out in wild merry glee.
But Jack was above all a man of prompt decision and quick action. For his own life he cared not one jot, and would gladly have laid it down for the sake of the woman he loved with all the passionate ardour of his romantic temperament, but with him, as with every other human being, self-preservation was the greatest and most irresistible law. He had readily imperilled his safety in order to obtain possession of the letters, which meant so much happiness to his beautiful white rose: but this done, he was ready to do battle for his own life, and to sell his freedom as dearly as may be.
He hoped that he had effectually accomplished his purpose through the arrest of Sir Humphrey Challoner, whose pockets Master Inch was even now deliberately searching, in spite of vigorous protests and terrible language from his Honour. His heart gave a wild leap of joy when he saw the beadle presently hurrying across the green and holding a paper in his hand. It looked small enough—not a packet, only a single letter: but if it were the momentous one, then indeed would all risks, all perils seem as nothing when weighed against the happiness of having renderedherthis service.
But Jack also saw Master Mittachip darting panic-stricken out of the inn opposite. He knew of course that within the next few moments—seconds perhaps—the fraud would be discovered and Sir Humphrey Challoner liberated, amidst a shower of abject apologies from the Squire and parish of Brassington combined. What the further consequences of it all would be to himself was not difficult to foresee.
He looked behind him. The Squire was sitting at his desk, apparently taking no notice of the noise and shouting outside. Down below, John Stich, who had been watching the scene on the green with the utmost delight, stood ready, holding Jack o' Lantern by the bridle. In a moment, with a few courteous words to the Squire, Bathurst had hurried out of the Court House. He met the beadle at the door, who, paper in hand, conscious of his own importance and flurried with wrath, was hurrying to report the important arrest to Squire West.
Bathurst stopped him with a quick,—
"'Twas well done, Master Inch!"
And pressing a couple of guineas into the beadle's hand, he added,—
"Her ladyship will further repay when you've found the rest of her property. In the meanwhile, these, I presume, are the letters she lost."
"Only one letter, sir," said Master Inch, as somewhat taken off his pompous guard he allowed Jack to take the paper from him.
There was not a minute to be lost. Master Mittachip, having vainly tried to harangue the yokels, who were still pelting his Honour with miscellaneous vegetables, was now hurrying to the Court House as fast as his thin legs would carry him.
Bathurst took one glance at the paper which Master Inch had given him. A cry of the keenest disappointment escaped his lips.
"What is it, Captain?" asked John Stich, who had anxiously been watching his friend's face.
"Nothing, friend," replied Bathurst, "only a receipt and tally for some sheep."
John Stich uttered a violent oath.
"And the scoundrel'll escape with a shower of potatoes and no more punishment than the stocks. And you've risked your life, Captain, for nothing!"
"Nay! not for nothing, honest friend," said Jack, in a hurried whisper, as he mounted Jack o' Lantern with all the speed his helpless arm would allow. "Do you go back to her ladyship as fast as you can. Beg her from me not to give up hope, but to feign an illness and on no account speak to anyone about the events of to-day until she has seen me again. You understand?"
"Aye! aye! Captain!"
At this moment there came a wild cry from the precincts of the Court House, and Master Mittachip, accompanied by Squire West himself, and closely followed by the beadle, were seen tearing across the green towards the village stocks.
"The truth is out, friend," shouted Jack, as pressing his knees against Jack o' Lantern's sides, and giving the gallant beast one cry of encouragement, he galloped away at break-neck speed out towards the Moor.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE MAN HUNT
By the time Squire West and the whole of the parish of Brassington had realised what a terrible practical joke had been perpetrated on them by the stranger, the latter was far out of sight, with not even a cloud of dust to mark the way he went.
But the hue-and-cry after him had never ceased the whole of that day. Squire West, profuse and abject in his apologies, had told off all the soldiers who were quartered in the village to scour the Heath day and night, until that rogue was found and brought before him. The Sergeant, who was in command of the squad, and the Corporal too, had a score of their own to settle with the mysterious stranger, whom the general consensus of opinion declared to have been none other than that scoundrel unhung, the notorious highwayman, Beau Brocade.
Master Inch, as soon as he had recovered his breath, distinctly recollected now seeing a beautiful chestnut horse pawing the ground outside the Court House during the course of the morning: he blamed himself severely for not having guessed the identity of the creature, so closely associated in every one's mind with the exploits of the highwayman.
The yokels, however, at this juncture, entrenched themselves behind a barrier of impenetrable density. In those days, just as even now, it is beyond human capacity to obtain information from a Derbyshire countryman if he do not choose to give it. Whether some of those who had pelted Sir Humphrey Challoner with vegetables had or had not known who his Honour was, whether some of them had or had not guessed Beau Brocade's presence in the village, remained, in spite of rigorous cross-examination a complete mystery to the perplexed Squire and to his valiant henchman, the beadle.
Promises, threats, bribes were alike ineffectual.
"I dunno!" was the stolid, perpetual reply to every question put on either subject.
Her ladyship, on the other hand, overcome with fatigue, was too ill to see anyone.
The posse of soldiers, a score or so by now, had however been reinforced as the day wore on by a contingent of Squire West's own indoor and outdoor servants, also by a few loafers from Brassington itself, of the sort that are to be found in every corner of the world where there is an ale-house, the idlers, the toadies, those who had nothing to lose and something to gain by running counter to popular feeling and taking up cudgels against Beau Brocade, for the sake of the reward lavishly promised by Squire West and Sir Humphrey Challoner.
The latter's temper had not even begun to simmer down at this late hour of the day when, all arrangements for the battue after the highwayman being completed, he at last found himself on horseback, ambling along the bridle-path towards the shepherd's hut, with Master Mittachip beside him.
It had been a glorious day, and the evening now gave promise of a balmy night to come, but the Heath's majestic repose was disturbed by the doings of man. Beneath the gorse and bracken lizards and toads had gone to rest in the marshy land beyond, waterhen and lapwing were asleep, but all the while on the great Moor, through the scrub and blackthorn, along path and ravine, man was hunting man and finding enjoyment in the sport.
As Sir Humphrey Challoner and the attorney rode slowly along, they could hear from time to time the rallying cry of the various parties stalking the Heath for their big game. The hunt was close on the heels of Beau Brocade. Earlier in the afternoon his horse had been seen to make its way, riderless, towards the forge of John Stich.
The quarry was on foot, he was known to be wounded, he must fall an easy prey to his trackers soon enough: sometimes in the distance there would come a shout of triumph, when the human blood-hounds had at last found a scent, then Sir Humphrey would rouse himself from his moody silence, a look of keen malice would light up his deep-set eyes, and reining in his horse, he would strain his ears to hear that shout of triumph again.
"He'll not escape this time, Sir Humphrey," whispered Mittachip, falling obsequiously into his employer's mood.
"No! curse him!" muttered his Honour with a string of violent oaths, "I shall see him hang before two days are over, unless these dolts let him escape again."
"Nay, nay, Sir Humphrey! that's not likely!" chuckled Master Mittachip. "Squire West has pressed all his own able-bodied men into the service, and the posse of soldiers were most keen for the chase. Nay, nay, he'll not escape this time."
"'Sdeath!" swore his Honour under his breath, "but I do feel stiff!"
"A dreadful indignity," moaned the attorney.
"Nay! but Squire West was most distressed, and his apologies were profuse! Indeed he seemed to feel it as much as if it had happened to himself."
"Aye! but not in the same place, I'll warrant! Odd's life, I had no notion how much a turnip could hurt when flung into one's eye," added his Honour, with one of those laughs that never boded any good.
"A most painful incident, Sir Humphrey!" sighed Mittachip, brimming over with sympathy.
"'Twas not the incident that was painful! Zounds! I am bruised all over. But I'll have the law of every one of those dolts, aye! and make that fool West administer it on all of them! As for that ape, the beadle, he shall be publicly whipped. Death and hell! they'll have to pay for this!"
"Aye! aye! Sir Humphrey! your anger is quite natural, and Squire West assured me that that rascal Beau Brocade, who played you this impudent trick, cannot fail to be caught. The hunt is well organised, he cannot escape."
As if to confirm the attorney's words, there rose at this moment from afar a weird and eerie sound, which caused Master Mittachip's shrivelled flesh to creep along his bones.
"What was that?" he whispered, horror-struck.
"A blood-hound, the better to track that rascal," muttered Sir Humphrey, savagely.
The attorney shivered; there had been so much devilish malice in his Honour's voice, that suddenly his puny heart misgave him. He took to wishing himself well out of this unmanly business. The horror of it seemed to grip him by the throat: he was superstitious too, and firmly believed in a material hell; the sound of that distant snarl, followed by the significant yelping of a hound upon the scent, made him think of the cries the devils would utter at sight of the damned.
"The dog belongs to one of Squire West's grooms," remarked his Honour, carelessly, "a savage beast enough, by the look of him. Luck was in our favour, for our gallant highwayman had carried Lady Patience's plaint inside his coat for quite a long time, and then left it on his Honour's table ... quite enough for any self-respecting blood-hound, and this one is said to be very keen on the scent.... Squire West tried to protest, but set a dog to catch a dog, say I."
Master Mittachip tried to shut his ears to the terrible sound. Fortunately it was getting fainter now, and Sir Humphrey did not give him time for much reflection.
His Honour had stopped for awhile listening, with a chuckle of intense satisfaction, to the yelping of the dog straining on the leash, then when the sound died away, he said abruptly,—
"Are we still far from the hut?"
"No, Sir Humphrey," stammered Mittachip, whose very soul was quaking with horror.
"We'll find the shepherd there, think you?"
"Y ... y ... yes, your Honour!"
"Harkee, Master Mittachip. I'll run no risk. That d——d highwayman must be desperate to-night. We'll adhere to our original plan, and let the shepherd take the letters to Wirksworth."
"You ... you ... you'll not let them bide to-night where they are, Sir Humphrey?"
"No, you fool, I won't. They are but just below the surface, under cover of some bramble, and once those fellows come scouring round the hut, any one of them may unearth the letters with a kick of his boot. There's been a lot of talk of a reward for the recovery of a packet of letters! ... No, no, no! I'll not risk it."
Sir Humphrey Challoner had thought the matter well out, and knew that he ran two distinct risks in the matter of the letters. To one he had alluded just now when he spoke of the probability—remote perhaps—of the packet being accidentally unearthed by one of the scouring parties. Any man who found it would naturally at once take it to Squire West, in the hope of getting the reward promised by her ladyship for its recovery. The idea, therefore, of leaving the letters in their hiding-place for awhile did not commend itself to him. On the other hand, there was the more obvious risk of keeping them about his own person. Sir Humphrey thanked his stars that he had not done so the day before, and even now kept in his mind a certain superstitious belief that Beau Brocade—wounded, hunted and desperate—would make a final effort, which might prove successful, to wrench the letters from him on the Heath.